Breakfast was even more cursory than supper had been, though Jamie toasted two pieces of bread with cheese between, so that the cheese melted, something Grey hadn’t seen before but thought very tasty. Quinn mounted up without comment afterward and headed back to the road.

Grey sat on a moss-covered rock, watching until the Irishman had got well away, then swiveled back to face Fraser, who was tidily rolling up a pair of stocking into a ball.

“I woke up last night,” he said without preamble.

Fraser stuffed the stocking into his portmanteau and reached for the heel of bread, which followed the stockings.

“Did you,” he said, not looking up.

“Yes. One question – does Mr. Quinn know the nature of our business with Siverly?”

Fraswer hesitated a moment before answering.

“Probably not.” He looked up, eyes a startlingly deep blue. “If he does, he didna hear it from me.”

“Will ye have keek in my saddlebags, lass?” she asked, stretching a little to ease herself on the bed. “There’s a bittie parcel in there of an herb ye might find of interest.”

I found it immediately — by smell.

“Where on earth did you get that?” I asked, halfway amused.

“Farquard Campbell,” she replied matter-of-factly. “When ye told me what the difficulty was with my eyes, I asked Fentiman if he kent anything that might be of help, and he told me that he’d heard somewhere that hemp might be of use. Farquard Campbell has a field of it under cultivation, so I thought I might as well try it. It does seem to help. Would ye put it in my hand, please, niece?”

Fascinated, I put the parcel of hemp and the little stack of papers down on the table beside her, and guided her hand to it. Rolling carefully onto her side to prevent the poultice falling off, she took a good pinch of aromatic herb, sprinkled it down the center of the paper, and rolled as tidy a joint as I had ever seen in Boston.

Without comment, I held the candle flame for her to light it, and she eased herself back on the pillow, nostrils flaring as she took a deep lungful of smoke.

Diana Gabaldon, A Breath of Snow and Ashes (Chapter 110 – The Smell of Light)

He passed the Free North Church and half-smiled at it, thinking of Mrs. Ogilvy and Mrs. MacNeil. They’d be back, he knew, if he didn’t do something about it. He knew their brand of determined kindliness. Dear God, if they heard that Bree had gone to work and — to their way of thinking — abandoned him with two small children, they’d be running shepherd’s pies and hot stovies out to him in relays. That mightn’t be such a bad thing, he thought, meditatively licking his lips — save that they’d stay to poke their noses into the workings of his household, and letting them into Brianna’s kitchen would be not merely playing with dynamite but deliberately throwing a bottle of nitroglycerin into the midst of his marriage.

“Catholics don’t believe in divorce,” Bree had informed him once. “We do believe in murder. There’s always Confession, after all.”

I’m pleased to present Outlander Kitchen’s very first blog swap! Today, OK has been temporarily taken over by the creators of the fabulous Inn At the Crossroads, who create fantastic-looking dishes inspired by the vast and epic world of George R.R. Martin’s Game of Throne Series. Watch for their cookbook, A Feast of Ice and Fire, available on May 29!

Today, they’ve made a delicious venison stew from Drums of Autumn, as described by Jamie in a letter back home, and read by Brianna during her brief 18th C stop at Lallybroch.

As for my half of this swap, you’ll find my version of Sister’s Stew, a rich hearty fish chowder, from G.R.R.’s Dance with Dragons here.

—

“Also a large boiling kettle, whose Acquisition we have Celebrated with a great quantity of tasty Stew, made with Venison, wild Onions from the wood, dried beans, and likewise some Tomatoe-fruits, dried from the Summer. None of us Died or suffered Ill-effects from Eating of the stew, so Claire is likely right, Tomatoes are not Poison.”

Historical and Character-Inspired Recipes from the fictional world of Diana Gabaldon.

“The food was either terribly bad or terribly good,” Claire had said, describing her adventures in the past. “That’s because there’s no way of keeping things; anything you eat has either been salted or preserved in lard, if it isn’t half rancid – or else it’s fresh off the hoof or out of the garden, in which case it can be bloody marvelous.”
(Diana Gabaldon, DOA)